


No Matter What, We Remain

by Uozumi



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uozumi/pseuds/Uozumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1940’s – 80’s AU. During a rough economic time for his family, Malcolm was sent to live with his granny until he was conscripted into World War II. Jamie, who lived next door, was too young to fight and joined the seminary instead. After the war, they met and began an off and on relationship that spans decades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter What, We Remain

**Author's Note:**

> **Fandom** _The Thick of It_  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** Jamie Macdonald, Malcolm Tucker; Malcolm/Jamie  
>  **Genre** Alternate Universe/Drama/Historical Fiction/Romance/Slash  
>  **Rating** NC-17  
>  **Word Count** 15,552  
>  **Disclaimer** The Thick of It c. Iannucci, BBC  
>  **Summary** 1940’s – 80’s AU. During a rough economic time for his family, Malcolm was sent to live with his granny until he was conscripted into World War II. Jamie, who lived next door, was too young to fight and joined the seminary instead. After the war, they met and began an off and on relationship that spans decades.  
>  **Warning(s)** sex, scars, allusions to abandonment, disowning, violence, beating, war, tertiary character death, body catching fire but surviving, homphobia, PTSD, potential spoilers for all series and specials of _The Thick of It_  
>  **Notes** I’d been thinking about a 1940’s/50’s AU for a long time now. Finally got the motivation to write it and it ended up getting much larger than I initially planned. I tried my best to look up things, but if I couldn’t find answers to my questions, I tried to go with logical solutions. Some of this is based on history classes I’ve taken, and some of this is based off my grandparents’ stories.

**_No Matter What, We Remain_ **

Jamie was the youngest of five children living in a village. His father was a veterinarian for local farmers. The family lived where they could easily see their neighbours’ property from the top storey of their home. The village was a central location for their father’s work. It was summer and Jamie could hear the radio in his oldest sisters’ room talking about the Luftwaffe raid a couple days ago in Glasgow. Jamie’s older brothers were both overseas. This morning was like any other morning since his brothers no longer shared a room with Jamie. He walked over to the window and looked outside. A teenager next door, who was as old as Jamie’s oldest sister, was tending to the plants in the garden. His name was Malcolm and he lived with his granny for the last five years. Jamie only knew what he overheard about Malcolm. Malcolm was the middle child, all his other sibling sisters. To get through some rough times, his parents sent him to his granny and kept his sisters at home. Malcolm was over five years older than Jamie was and would likely be conscripted on his next birthday that autumn.

“What are you staring so intently at?” the younger of Jamie’s sisters asked. She was four years older than Jamie was and already dressed for work. She stood with him at the window and peered down at Malcolm. “Is he up to something?” she asked. 

“No,” Jamie said. Jamie looked away from Malcolm, only just realizing he had been staring too intently before his sister interrupted. It was new and started when his brothers left for war. 

“Get dressed,” his sister said. “Your breakfast is already cold.” She left the room and went down the stairs. 

Jamie glanced back out the window one last time. He did not know why Malcolm kept drawing his attention. He had seen Malcolm from his bedroom window multiple times over the last five years, but he never really saw Malcolm until recently. Jamie did not know what it meant and did not care to figure it out. 

Throughout the remainder of the summer, Jamie found himself watching Malcolm. It was not intentional. Sometimes they would both be tending to the plants in their gardens. Sometimes Jamie would be running an errand for his parents and spot Malcolm doing something similar for his granny. Jamie wanted to understand how Malcolm’s hair worked. It made no sense and he kept all of these thoughts and feelings to himself. 

When autumn came, Malcolm was sent into the war. He was abled bodied and provided no job or service necessary to keep him home. Jamie let Malcolm slip from his mind. As Jamie grew older, he began to focus on his education and religion. He enrolled at a seminary that was in-between buildings after a fire. The years passed and the war ended. Two years later saw Jamie in Glasgow spending his summer holidays working with the archdiocese. 

After training, Malcolm went to Asia. A year into his service, in the middle of battle, he was lying on the ground bleeding and regrouping mentally. He did not realize he was lying partially in a puddle of petrol until the puddle caught fire. His left arm, the left side of his torso, and part of his left leg caught fire. The damage was extensive and he lost a testicle. That was five years ago and the war ended two years ago. Malcolm worked for the newspaper now covering sports. Malcolm always left the office late to avoid the bulk of commuters. It was summer and for the past week, he shared his bus stop with a man who looked young enough to have not been in service. 

Jamie did not mean to stare. He knew who Malcolm was instantly. It was hard to forget his nose or not recognize the curl to Malcolm’s short hair. Jamie worked with many veterans from both world wars that were part of the church. The discoloured, rippled scars he could see on Malcolm’s hand were not the most grotesque thing Jamie had seen, but his eyes kept following the patterns of the burns. 

“You owe me a quid,” Malcolm said. 

“What?” Jamie asked. His eyes moved to Malcolm’s face. 

“You’ve been staring at me all week. If you’re going to treat me like a fucking freak show, you owe me a quid,” Malcolm said. 

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” Jamie said. “I just…know who you are. You lived next door when I was a kid.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the stubble on Jamie’s chin and the softness of Jamie’s hands. His eyes moved to Jamie’s eyes. “The wee one. Always on your bike.” 

Jamie nodded and introduced himself properly. He shook Malcolm’s hand. When his bus arrived, Jamie stood up. “I’ll see you again,” he said and left. 

Malcolm’s bus was the next bus. His hand felt warm where Jamie shook it. He was not certain if it meant anything more than it had been years since someone did that outside of business. 

Either of them could have changed their schedules. Malcolm could have arrived to the bus stop later. Jamie could have stayed away from the bench, but neither changed and they continued to spend the last few minutes of their workdays in each other’s company. It was quiet. It was comfortable. By the end of the summer, Malcolm discovered that he missed Jamie’s presence at the bus stop. Jamie’s mind kept wandering back to Malcolm throughout term. It was distracting, but Jamie kept imagining Malcolm at the stop in whatever weather he saw from the windows. 

It was the coldest time of the year. It was one of the few times of the year when the nerves along Malcolm’s burn scars did not pinch and sting. Malcolm was outdoors to get away from the small room he kept in a nearby hotel that had no windows. It was cheap and as long as he paid his bill on time, the management did not complain. He suspected the room used to be some kind of large closet that was converted into a room. 

Jamie only just got out of church. He came to the Glasgow service upon invitation from one of the men who worked at the archdiocese. Jamie pulled his scarf tighter against the breeze. When he got to the bench, he was surprised to find Malcolm sitting there. Every time since the summer Jamie came to Glasgow, Malcolm was never at the bench when it was time for Jamie to leave. 

Malcolm glanced at Jamie when he heard Jamie approach. When Jamie saw the small smile threatening on Malcolm’s face, Jamie said, “Happy Christmas.” 

Malcolm’s smile vanished but he nodded. “Happy Christmas.” He had not thought about what day it was. When he returned from the war, he did not contact his parents or his sisters. He lost track of some holidays. 

Jamie frowned at the expression on Malcolm’s face. “Do you celebrate it?” he asked. 

Malcolm opened his mouth and closed it. He knew Jamie was likely not even twenty yet and might not know better than to ask that kind of question. Malcolm wondered how much of the world Jamie’s family and faith allowed him to know. “I used to,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie watched Malcolm’s face. His eyes followed the furrow in Malcolm’s brow. “Come have Christmas dinner with us,” Jamie said. “It was delicious last year. It should be just as good this year. Our landlady is a great cook.” He would have gone home for Christmas, but his duties to the church meant he went home when term ended and came back yesterday. 

Malcolm frowned. “I can’t. I have a deadline,” he said. 

Jamie nodded. They lapsed into silence. Jamie looked over at Malcolm when Malcolm glanced over at him. 

“What are you doing next week?” Malcolm asked. 

“Nothing,” Jamie said. There were a few things for the parish connected to his seminary, but he did not think Malcolm meant the weekends. 

“I’m going to get the fuck out of here on Tuesday,” Malcolm said, “and go an hour or so north to a loch I visited when I was a lad. If you want, you could come, get away from things. I come back on Friday.” 

“You and me…?” Jamie asked. “Alone?”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie licked his lips in thought and then nodded. “Let me know the expenses. I’ll pay my way.” He had more than enough money saved up he could dip into for such a trip. He suspected that Malcolm only had enough to cover himself on the trip. Jamie scribbled his number on a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to Malcolm. “Call me between eight and nine on a weeknight,” he said. “Otherwise I might not be home.”

Malcolm took the number, his fingers brushing along Jamie’s in the exchange. Both of them paused at the touch, but neither tried to react outwardly to it. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Malcolm said, “before I leave work.” 

Malcolm and Jamie travelled a little over an hour until they reached a place where they would spent the next few days along the loch. The room Malcolm secured when it was only him travelling was very tiny, only big enough for a bed, a small closet, desk, and a small sink near the door. It had a window that overlooked the road outside. It was colder near the loch than it had been in the city. Jamie peered out the curtains and shivered from the drafts in the window. He looked back at Malcolm who was inspecting the room. Malcolm’s left arm was bent at the elbow, hand close to his body as though in an invisible sling. His eyes scanned the ceiling and then the edge of the room along the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Jamie asked. 

“Looking,” Malcolm said. He knelt down and peered under the bed. There were no signs of rodent or insect activity. He could not anticipate anything unusual during the night or day. Once he checked everything, his shoulders relaxed and his arm straightened at his side. There were meals provided by the owners. There were trails and woods around the lodging. After the evening meal, Malcolm retreated to their room. Jamie lingered after the meal, listening to one of the other guests playing a guitar. When Jamie returned to the room, it was cold and there was a pungent odour in the air. “What is that smell?” Jack asked and shut the door behind him. 

Malcolm sat at the desk with a towel spread across it. He had a tub of a noxious smelling cream out and the window cracked. Malcolm wore a pair of short athletic shorts. The burn scars extended from his hand up to almost his shoulder and then down the left side of his torso to varying degrees across his front and back, disappearing behind the fabric of his shorts. The scar reappeared along Malcolm’s thigh and wrapped itself along his thigh all the way down just past his knee. The scars along his leg and torso shone in the lamp light from the cream. Malcolm was applying thin strips of the cream to his arm so he could spread it and rub it into the scarred areas. 

“Jesus,” Jamie whispered. He shivered from the cold air in the room and pulled his jumper tighter. 

“It happens,” Malcolm said. He closed the tub of cream and began to rub it into his arm. There were parts of the scar along his back that looked more intense where he could not reach with the cream. 

Jamie sat on the bed. “What does the cream do?” he asked. 

“It’s supposed to help the nerves and flatten the scars,” Malcolm said. “It flattens the scars.” He had been getting more movement in his affected joints, but he thought it might just be the body’s own healing and not the cream. Malcolm made a point to practice moving his left hand and other affected joints when he could. 

Jamie’s eyes moved along Malcolm’s spine. Malcolm could not see Jamie staring, but he could feel it. Malcolm’s shoulders flexed in response. Malcolm did not volunteer the origin of his injuries and Jamie did not ask. 

“Tomorrow I want to explore,” Malcolm said. He let the cream dry. He flexed his fingers on his burnt hand and moved them as much as he could. 

“I can wake up whenever you need me to,” Jamie said. He watched Malcolm’s fingers moving. 

“You should be careful with your staring,” Malcolm said. He got up from the chair and put the cream back in his bag. “You can’t just stare at people.”

“I know,” Jamie said. He was not in a habit of staring at people, at least that he was aware. So far, the unintentional staring seemed exclusive to Malcolm. Jamie looked out the window when Malcolm changed for bed. They switched places so Jamie could change. The window was still open, but the smell of the cream was not gone from the room yet. “Are we sharing the bed?” Jamie asked. 

“Uncomfortable with the idea?” Malcolm asked. He glanced over at Jamie. Jamie pulled his vest down where it rode up when he removed his shirt. Malcolm had a sleeping bag he could use if Jamie objected. 

“No,” Jamie said. “Are you?” He looked back at Malcolm. 

Malcolm shook his head. It would not be the first time either of them shared the bed with someone platonically. 

Jamie closed the window. The bed sat in the corner but far enough away from the wall that neither of them would be trapped. Malcolm and Jamie stood on opposite sides of the bed and looked at one another. Jamie licked his lips and then got into bed. 

Malcolm woke in the morning with a start, sitting straight up in the bed hurriedly. He was soaked with sweat and had to catch his breath. He looked down at his body, but he definitely not on fire. Everything appeared all right. He looked over at Jamie whose eyes were wide and fixed on Malcolm’s face. 

“Everything’s fine, go back to sleep,” Malcolm said. 

“You were screaming like you were being murdered!” Jamie said and sat up. He ran his hands through his hair. 

Malcolm rubbed his left arm. His left hand pressed firmly against his thigh where there were scars. “It’s fine,” Malcolm growled. “Everything’s fucking fine.” His jaw tensed. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before opening them again. 

Jamie reached out and touched Malcolm’s back with the tips of his fingers. He could feel the scars underneath the fabric of Malcolm’s vest. When Malcolm did not flinch, Jamie slowly slid his hand so the pads of his fingers were against Malcolm’s back. He pressed his fingers along the scars, feeling them through Malcolm’s vest, applying a firm pressure, trying to mimic what Malcolm was trying to do to his other scars. 

Malcolm held his breath. He froze when he felt Jamie’s fingers press and move along the scars he could not reach. The touch helped ground Malcolm to reality. 

“Why did you ask me to come with you?” Jamie asked. He kept his fingers where he could feel the scars and did not let his hand drift too low. 

“Why did you agree?” Malcolm asked. He stopped rubbing his arm. 

Jamie was not sure. He let his fingers slip away since Malcolm seemed better. It was light enough to see around the room. No one knocked on their door or made moves to make sure no one was actually dead. Jamie could smell breakfast and decided the others were likely waiting to see if Malcolm or Jamie showed up to breakfast alone. 

When New Year’s Eve arrived, the owners put on a small party for their guests. It was almost midnight when Jamie looked out a window and noticed Malcolm walking outside with a torch. Jamie retrieved his coat from his room and followed. Jamie kept his distance. He had a torch, but did not turn it on yet. He followed Malcolm all the way down to the loch. 

It was almost midnight. Malcolm stopped at the bank and turned off his torch. He sat on a fallen log. There was no moonlight. Jamie stopped along the footpath, remaining hidden in the darkness. 

“I know you’re there. I’m not going to throw myself in the fucking loch,” Malcolm said after a long moment of silence. He could hear Jamie following. He was not sure if it was Jamie, but he could not think of anyone else who might try to follow. 

Jamie turned his torch on so he could see the ground. He walked down to the overturned tree and turned off his torch. 

“You’re worried I brought you here so I’d have someone to take my body home,” Malcolm said quietly. 

Jamie did not answer, but it was a concern of his. When working with the archdiocese he heard about similar incidents across the area. Jamie did not envy anyone who had gone to war. 

“If I couldn’t live like this, I would already be dead,” Malcolm said.

They lapsed into silence. Jamie could not see Malcolm, but he was aware of Malcom’s presence. “Why did you ask me to come with you?” Jamie asked, keeping his voice quiet so it would not carry across the water. 

Malcolm did not have an answer, let alone a good one. He was a strategic, practical man, and there had been nothing strategic or practical about the invitation. He felt Jamie’s fingers run through his hair, the touch tentative. Malcolm leaned into the touch instinctively. It had been a very, very long time since anyone touched Malcolm’s hair. 

Jamie continued to toy with Malcolm’s hair. It was dark and cold. No one could see or hear them. It was the most privacy Jamie had experienced in his life. Jamie felt his heart rate increase at everything he could do with such privacy but did not have the nerve yet. Jamie hesitated and then pressed his lips to Malcolm’s forehead, letting them linger. 

Malcolm closed his eyes. “You’re a fucking priest,” he murmured. He swatted at Jamie’s hand. 

“In training,” Jamie said. He removed his hand from Malcolm’s hair. 

Malcolm fumbled for Jamie’s hand and grasped his wrist. Malcolm’s fingers slid down to Jamie’s palm. Jamie shivered even though his stomach felt warm. “Cold?” Malcolm asked. 

“No.” Jamie did not move away. He held his breath. He waited. For something. Anything. He was aware of every single inch of skin Malcolm touched. He was acutely aware of Malcolm’s thumb stroking his wrist slowly. He thought about this type of contact and beyond for the last few months. It was why he agreed to the trip, though Jamie had not expected things to go this way. 

Malcolm let go of Jamie’s hand. He stood up and ran his hands through his own hair. 

Jamie exhaled. He looked over in Malcolm’s direction though he could not see him. 

“I shouldn’t have invited you,” Malcolm said. He rubbed his face and found his torch in his pocket. 

“You don’t even know why you fucking invited me,” Jamie said. 

Malcolm remained quiet. He did not turn the torch on yet. It was the first time he heard Jamie swear and he wanted to listen to where it might lead. 

“Well, you don’t,” Jamie said. It was probably the second time in Jamie’s life that he said the word fuck. Jamie sighed. “I’m going back.” He turned his torch on. “Don’t freeze to death out here.” 

Malcolm counted slowly to forty and then he headed back with his torch. 

Malcolm and Jamie shared the bed again with their backs facing one another. They drifted in and out of sleep. It was still dark outside when Malcolm asked, “Why did you come?”

Several reasons slipped through Jamie’s mind. He felt the bed wiggle when Malcolm rolled onto his stomach. “Because you asked,” Jamie said. He kept his back to Malcolm. “One of the priests always says that everyone has a temptation, and you have to rise above it.” Jamie considered his next words carefully and licked his lips. “I want to drown.” 

Malcolm ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. He thought about touching Jamie’s shoulder, but he did not. “Then we’ll drown,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie rolled closer on his own volition, wrapped an arm around Malcolm’s waist, and buried his face in Malcolm’s neck. Malcolm pulled the blankets closer around them. They slept until the sun was high in the sky.

The next day after lunch for breakfast and separate showers, Malcolm walked with Jamie along the loch. They walked until Malcolm’s nerves stung, but he was certain no one else would pass by them. Malcolm sat on a stump and rubbed his face. “We have to talk.” He met Jamie’s gaze and held it. “What this is,” Malcolm said, “is illegal. If we’re caught, we’re fucked whether we fuck or not.” 

“I know,” Jamie said. “I’ve heard the stories.” He put his hands in the pockets of his coat. His eyes moved to Malcolm’s left hand where a glove covered the scars. “If we even go that far,” Jamie said. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. Kissing, touching, and dating were appealing. Malcolm’s hands where only Jamie’s had ever been was appealing. Jamie was not sure anything beyond that was appealing, at least for now. 

“We can do normal things,” Malcolm said, “as friends. Everything else is private. More than private.” He took his glove off his right hand so he could move his hair out of his eyes. 

“I know,” Jamie said. “I know that no matter what we do, I might become a priest anyway.” 

Malcolm nodded. “I know.” He put his glove back on, using his teeth to tug it down. 

Jamie paused and watched Malcolm’s teeth tug on the hide. Jamie realized how alone they were. He realized all the things he could do. He realized that Malcolm could tug on his ear as he tugged on the glove. 

Malcolm observed Jamie’s changing facial expressions. “Even here’s too public.” He stood up and stretched. “Later tonight, after they check to see if we need more blankets, we’ll see what happens.”

That night, Jamie lingered to listen to music while Malcolm took time to use his medicinal cream. When Jamie returned to the cold room, Malcolm was finishing rubbing the cream into the scars on his torso. He looked up at Jamie when he entered. “How was it?” Malcolm asked. He could only hear a fraction of the performance from their room.

“Tonight there was a flute,” Jamie said. He pulled his jumper closer to his body. He sat on the bed and watched Malcolm’s shoulders slump while he let the cream dry on his hand and arm. Jamie licked his lips. “I could help.” It was an excuse to touch Malcolm. Jamie did not want the cream on his hands, but he did not know a better excuse to start touching Malcolm. 

Malcolm eyed Jamie, not sure if Jamie would actually do it. After a moment, Malcolm tapped the side of the tub. “Use less than you think you’ll need.” 

Jamie rolled his sleeves up and picked up a little bit of cream with his finger. The cream was cold and smooth. Jamie spread it in thin strips along Malcolm’s hand and arm as he saw Malcolm do, and then Jamie spread it in thin strips across Malcolm’s shoulder blade. The scars on Malcolm’s shoulder blade looked like they would be sharp or jagged, but they were lumpy, firm, and very rounded. Jamie began to work the cream into Malcolm’s scars. It felt strange, but it was a way to touch Malcolm and to understand him. 

Malcolm was quiet. The last time someone had done this for him was one of the nurses in a hospital when the staff first gave him the cream to use after the war ended. Jamie’s fingers were slower. His palm was soft against Malcolm’s arm and shoulder. Malcolm had various sexual encounters since the burns, but none of them had been this bold with the scars. He could vaguely feel some touches and others had no sensation. Malcolm leaned into the touches but tried not to lean in too much. 

Jamie tried not to think of Malcolm as an abandoned domestic cat who was a little wild. Jamie finished and let his hand flatten, sliding down the uninjured side of Malcolm’s back, eliciting a shiver. “I’m going to clean my hands,” Jamie said. He retreated to a sink near the door. Malcolm closed the tub of cream and put it back in his bag. Jamie dried his hands. They both stood near the closet and looked at one another through the corner of their eyes. 

“Is this the first time you’ve experimented?” Jamie asked. He was not sure how to word the question. 

“I’m not experimenting,” Malcolm said. “You’re my third man. There’ve been some women in there too.” Since gaining the scars, Malcolm had not found someone who lasted more than a few nights at most, but before the war, there had been potential for something long term, but the person was killed in the war. 

Jamie nodded. He felt very young suddenly. Jamie knew that Malcolm was twenty-five really, which was not that much older than nineteen, but Malcolm had been through so much, and the worst Jamie ever experienced was burying the younger of his older brothers without an actual body. 

“If it bothers you, we don’t have to do anything,” Malcolm said. He could see Jamie thinking. “We can go home tomorrow and continue like none of this happened.”

“I didn’t come here to remain pious,” Jamie said. “I already know I don’t want to be a priest. What’s the point of deciding to give into temptation if I don’t actually give in?” 

Malcolm grasped Jamie’s shoulders. He held Jamie’s gaze a moment and then leaned down and kissed him. Jamie kissed back. Jamie was glad Malcolm had hold of his shoulders, because Jamie did not know what to do with his hands. Every time Jamie fumbled, Malcolm tried the kiss again, turning one kiss into several. Malcolm’s hands moved to Jamie’s waist and then Malcolm broke the kiss. 

Jamie rested his hands on Malcolm’s waist and leaned up enough so his forehead could rest against Malcolm’s forehead. Jamie let his hands move along Malcolm’s skin, feeling the differences between the scarred side and the uninjured side. Jamie licked his lips and mouthed at Malcolm’s neck, trying to find the more sensitive side. Malcolm squeezed Jamie’s ass. Jamie had to bite his tongue before he could groan in response. 

Malcolm’s hands left Jamie’s body when he felt a chill from behind them. “I should close the window,” Malcolm murmured. He moved away and shut the window. 

Jamie took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. He watched Malcolm bend over to secure and lock the window. Jamie felt many conflicting emotions. He wanted to lead but he wanted Malcolm to overwhelm him. Jamie found parts of Malcolm grotesque and others alluring. Jamie wanted to find out what Malcolm looked like underneath his shorts and pants. Jamie also hoped that they would not get completely naked either. 

Jamie moved closer slowly, his mind racing with everything he could do, everything he wanted to do. He wrapped his arms around Malcolm from behind. Jamie’s hands moved up along Malcolm’s stomach to his chest. Jamie pressed curious kisses along the skin near the top of Malcolm’s spine and the back of his neck. 

Malcolm closed his eyes. He shivered and moved into Jamie’s hands. Jamie nipped at the back of Malcolm’s ear and whispered, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He rubbed one of Malcolm’s nipples idly for something to do with his hand. 

Malcolm squirmed. “Then let me take over,” he said quietly. 

Jamie stepped back and let go. Malcolm turned around and pushed Jamie down onto the bed so Jamie sat so his body faced on corner of the mattress and his back faced the diagonal corner. Malcolm climbed onto the bed and straddled Jamie. Jamie removed his jumper to get it out of their way. Malcolm leaned over and kissed Jamie’s neck. He sucked at the point where Jamie’s neck met his shoulder. 

Jamie bit his tongue. He let his hands move along Malcolm’s body. Their bodies lowered until Jamie’s head was at the corner of the bed. Malcolm’s mouth was persistent. He bit and sucked, leaving marks across Jamie’s shoulders. Malcolm’s right hand slid under Jamie’s vest, exploring. Jamie squirmed and his hands moved lower so he could grope Malcolm’s ass, receiving a muffled noise into his neck in reply. 

Jamie wiggled out of his vest when Malcolm pulled on it. Jamie bit his lip when Malcolm took one of Jamie’s nipples between his teeth and tugged gently on it. Jamie dug his fingernails into Malcolm’s waist to keep from making any suspicious noises and shivered. Jamie pushed at Malcolm and Malcolm let Jamie roll them over. It took a bit of adjusting until they lay comfortably. The bed creaked with their weight and they paused. Jamie took a deep breath after a long moment of silence. He ran his fingers along the boundary between the scars and the uninjured skin. “What does it feel like when I touch them?” he whispered. 

“Vague sometimes,” Malcolm said, “sometimes nothing. He wiggled when Jamie found a ticklish patch of uninjured skin near Malcolm’s navel. Jamie moved his fingers up Malcolm’s chest and leaned down to kiss him. The kiss turned into several. Hands explored and so did mouths. Jamie’s trousers found their way to the floor. 

Jamie felt Malcolm’s fingers slid up his inner thigh. He shivered and then he moved away from the touch. Malcolm’s hand paused, and then Malcolm pulled his hand back and rested it on his stomach. “What?” he asked, looking up at Jamie. They were both visibly hard. It was the last possible moment to change minds.

Jamie leaned back and looked down at Malcolm. His stomach felt hot in a bad way. His nerves prickled with a sense of everything he knew from his upbringing. He was drowning and he was afraid. 

Malcolm had seen that look before on more than one of the people he had been with in the last eight years. Malcolm sighed and ran his hand through his own hair. The trepidation in Jamie’s eyes was already undoing Malcolm’s arousal. 

“Sorry,” Jamie said. He felt his own arousal slipping away, replaced with mild nausea. He moved towards the foot of the bed so Malcolm could sit. 

Malcolm said nothing. He took a moment to think himself down from arousal. Once he was flaccid, Malcolm ran his fingers up Jamie’s spine between his shoulder blades before running his fingers back down and pulling his hand away. “Maybe it’s a sign,” Malcolm murmured. He got up from the bed to find his pyjamas. 

Jamie’s shoulders flexed in response. He watched Malcolm and then looked away when Malcolm stripped off the athletic shorts, revealing old pants with a hole in the seat. “I still don’t think I can become a priest in good conscience,” Jamie said. 

“It could be a sign that you’re not into men,” Malcolm said. “Maybe you got confused because I was the only teenager you could see from your bedroom.”

Jamie frowned. He did not think that was it, but he had no means to know if that was not it either. He sighed and slid off the bed, picking up his clothes from the floor so he could change for bed. 

They lapsed into silence and fell asleep with their backs to one another. When they woke up in the morning, they took separate buses home.

One of Jamie’s friends from before seminary worked for one of the political parties in Glasgow. Jamie agreed enough with the party to work for it. He moved into the city and began making connections with the right type of people. Once Jamie felt settled into the city, he made his way to the bus stop Malcolm frequented. 

Malcolm slowed when he saw Jamie sitting at the bus stop in a suit. It was two weeks since their trip. He approached the bench and sat, deciding to find out why Jamie was there. 

“I wasn’t sure if the phone was safe,” Jamie said. “I have a new landlord. He’s very nosy.”

Malcolm’s eyes moved from Jamie’s face to the collar of his suit to the cuffs and back to Jamie’s face. “What do you want?” Malcolm asked. He knew he should have pulled back long before Jamie pulled back on their trip. They both were too carried away in the moment and Malcolm knew he should have been the responsible partner. 

“I want to work up to what we tried to do at the loch,” Jamie said. “I don’t want it to end like that.” He was not sure he wanted it to end at all. 

“If your landlord is nosy, we’ll have to keep it where I live,” Malcolm said, “and be discreet.” 

“I know,” Jamie said. “I didn’t start a career in politics for it to end in a month.” 

“But it will end,” Malcolm said. “There’s always someone who fucks up and goes down in flames.”

“And there are a lot of people who manage to avoid scandal,” Jamie said. “Just because we think they’ve done nothing doesn’t mean they haven’t.” He looked at Malcolm and licked his lips. “If you don’t want to, you should say so.”

“I want to,” Malcolm said. “I have less to lose than you do.”

Jamie frowned. He was not sure what much less Malcolm could lose than he could. Malcolm was more established in his field. 

“Do you want to come over?” Malcolm asked. His bus was the next bus. 

It was Friday and Jamie did not need to go to work until Monday unless something truly catastrophic happened. After disembarking from the bus, Malcolm and Jamie ate at a café near the hotel. The night went as many nights that followed. They went to Malcolm’s small room in the hotel and shared the bed. Malcolm’s room was just big enough for a bed, a desk, and a small closet. There was a door to a bathroom that was almost too small for its toilet, tub, and sink. The room was cleaned around three in the afternoon, so they were not in danger of a maid walking in on them accidentally as long as they were smart and did not sleep in too late on Saturday mornings. 

It was May. Jamie’s eyes fluttered open. He felt Malcolm’s cheek pressed against his back and Malcolm’s hand resting against his stomach. It was too dark to see the clock. Jamie could smell the kitchen making breakfast to order. He slowly wormed his way out of bed. He took the clock with him into the bathroom where there would be light. When he came back out of the bathroom a while later, he knew it was just after seven in the morning. There was a little light from the hallway through the bottom crack of the door. Jamie looked at Malcolm’s shadow on the bed. He set the clock back where it belonged and climbed back in under the covers. 

There was a sudden crash of dishes a few minutes later. Malcolm woke with a start, bolt upright in bed. His heart races and his chest heaved. He looked around. Everything was dark. He could feel the lumpy mattress. He stretched his legs, his foot brushing Jamie’s leg in the process. Malcolm made a small shush noise as though Jamie should stay sleeping, unaware that Jamie was awake. Malcolm got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Jamie sat up once the bathroom door closed. He rubbed his face. He counted under his breath rhythmically. When he got to sixty, he got out of the bed and knocked on the bathroom door. 

Malcolm could not breathe. He had not turned on the lights and only succeeded in walking into the sink, jabbing his hip into the corner. The room spun. His nerves were on fire. He needed cold water. Malcolm’s heart continued to race. He took deep breaths. He knew intellectually that he heard breaking dishes. His body had yet to grasp that message. He heard Jamie knock on the door. Malcolm reached out and turned the handle, letting the door open. 

“Are you alright?” Jamie asked. 

“No,” Malcolm growled. He would never get used to waking up and feeling like this, though he did have many more mornings he was not startled out of sleep and was able to wake normally. He continued to grip the sink tightly with his right hand and as much as his left hand could manage. 

Jamie licked his lips. It was not the first time Malcolm growled at him with frustration with a wild look. Jamie was still learning not to take it personally. “What are you trying to do?” he asked. 

“Cold water,” Malcolm said. He took another deep breath. “Fill the bath with cold water.” 

Jamie squeezed in past Malcolm. He started to fill the tub. 

Malcolm bowed his head and stared at his hands. He felt like half his body was burning. He could smell memories of smells that were perverted with every recollection until he was not certain if he smelled petrol, death, or both. 

Jamie turned the water off once it reached a decent height. He put a hand on Malcolm’s back. Malcolm flinched under the touch. Jamie pressed himself against the wall between the sink and toilet so he would not touch Malcolm again. 

Malcolm took another breath and did not bother to remove his pyjamas and pants before stepping into the tub and immersing himself in the cold water. It was frigid and sharp, but it countered the haphazard stinging across his body. When his heart rate slowed, Malcolm removed his clothing. He handed them to Jamie who wrung the clothes out and hung them up with the hotel bath towels. 

It was the first time Jamie had seen Malcolm completely naked. The scarring followed a logical pattern. Jamie wondered how Malcolm got it. He asked once and Malcolm evaded the question. 

“You can look if you want,” Malcolm said, “you’ve seen everything else.” He slid lower on his back so his ankles were on the lip of the tub and his shoulders under the water. He closed his eyes. The burning ebbed away and the panic slowly subsided. 

Jamie leaned against the wall. “You seem better.”

“I will be,” Malcolm said. He sighed. He lingered in the water until he was certain he would be all right. He let the tub drain and remained in it until the water was gone. Jamie opened a towel and offered it. Malcolm got up, took the towel from Jamie, and dried off. He looked at Jamie’s face. “This is reality,” he said. “I’m not going to fucking apologize. I’m working on it, that’s all I can do.” 

“I know,” Jamie said. He was not sure what else he could say. 

Malcolm dried his hair and then wrapped the towel around his waist. He let his fingers tickle Jamie’s ear when he walked past before finding clothes for the day. 

Their bedroom rendezvous to the hotel were irregular and tended to be ten to fifteen days apart. Otherwise, Malcolm and Jamie would meet in various locations and do more socially acceptable things when their jobs permitted. They returned to Malcolm’s room after spending time at the cinema. It was late and Jamie fell face-first onto the bed. 

“The movie wasn’t that boring,” Malcolm said. He had liked it at least. He pulled his jumper off and hung it in his closet. He walked over to Jamie and squeezed his ass. Jamie let out a muffled groan into the mattress. Malcolm splayed his hand against Jamie’s back, running his fingers firmly along it. He could feel Jamie’s tension. 

“They figured out I can write speeches,” Jamie murmured. “They’ve got me in a shit chair all week.” 

Malcolm began to rub Jamie’s back, using his uninjured hand. He felt Jamie shiver. When he felt Jamie relax, Malcolm leaned over and kissed the back of Jamie’s neck. Jamie rolled over and pulled Malcolm down onto the bed, and rolled about until Malcolm was on his back and Jamie was kneeling over him. It was different this time. Clothes stripped away. Mouths seemed to know where to go and fingers knew the right places to tease to cause squirming and muffled moans. They rolled onto their sides and squirmed out of their pants. It was the first time they were both naked in front of one another at the same time. 

Jamie was round and supple with much to grab. Malcolm was angular and his bones more prominent. Malcolm’s fingertips slid along the curve of Jamie’s hip. Jamie moved closer and kissed him. 

When Malcolm woke in the morning, he felt Jamie’s body up against his, Jamie’s arm around Malcolm’s waist. He could feel Jamie’s breath on the back of his neck and their legs hooked together. They were still naked and the room smelled of sweat and cum. Malcolm eased himself out of Jamie’s grasp and sat up, rubbing his face. His mind raced through everything they would have to do to ensure their safety. Malcolm wanted to lie back down in bed and not leave it for the rest of the day. He wanted to spend more time with Jamie, show Jamie things that Jamie did not know. He wanted to remain naked for the rest of the day. He looked at the light from the hall and smelled the air. He listened to the noise of the hotel. He knew it was still morning and they had nothing to fear for now, but they could not linger together for too long either. 

Jamie rolled onto his back. He let out a low, deep sigh. “I hope we get to do fuck all today,” he mumbled when he realized Malcolm was awake. 

Malcolm snorted. “We need to fuck off sooner than later,” he said. He ran his fingers through Jamie’s hair. Malcolm did not like being in the room while the maid cleaned no matter the night’s activities. 

Jamie moved closer. “Fine,” he murmured. He knew there was no arguing. Even if he could come up with a good excuse to roll around in bed naked for the rest of the day, there would be consequences beyond their control. 

They left the room separately during a lull in staff activity between breakfast and lunch. It would be several days before they would have the privacy to do more than just stand close. 

Jamie was a good Catholic, his current sins aside. However, he kept Malcolm from his confessions. At first, keeping such things from God felt wrong, but Jamie heard the voice of men he knew on the other side of the confessional and he could not speak the words. He talked about other, smaller sins, but never Malcolm. 

Jamie left the church one evening and wandered, thinking. He did not regret his relationship with Malcolm, but it was difficult. It was not about the lack of regular sex, but lack of regular touching that could go on longer than socially acceptable. It was hard to remember the rules sometimes. Jamie did not need to kiss Malcolm in public, but it would be nice to be allowed to take his hand or arm whenever Jamie wanted. 

Jamie felt someone touch his shoulder and Malcolm fell in step with him. They walked quietly along the pavement. Jamie glanced over at Malcolm. “This can’t be a coincidence.” 

“It’s not,” Malcolm said. He looked at Jamie. “They picked me to go to cover the Olympics for the paper in person.” The Olympics would be in London that summer. 

“The Olympics start next week,” Jamie said. 

“And go on for a fortnight,” Malcolm said. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. He licked his lips. He would invite Malcolm over, but he could not trust his landlord. He was planning to move once his lease ended. “It’ll be boring without you,” Jamie said. 

Malcolm reached out and put his hand briefly on the back of Jamie’s neck before the hand dropped back to Malcolm’s side. 

The London Olympics was the second Olympics held after the war. Only six months ago, the winter Olympics happened in St. Moritz, Switzerland. It would not be until 1994 that the Olympics would begin alternating every other year instead of occurring in the same year. Malcolm worked hard on his articles. He made connections with reporters from various locations around the country and abroad. By the end of the two weeks, one of the reporters approached Malcolm with an offer he could not refuse. He was offered a job at the _The Times_ when one of their reporters had to quit abruptly. Malcolm finished his coverage of the Olympics for the paper back in Glasgow and remained in London to begin his new job the next week. He wrote a letter to Jamie saying that he would not be coming back to Glasgow. He received no reply. 

The letter never made it to Jamie. Jamie found out about Malcolm’s new job when one of his colleagues mentioned it when the man remembered Jamie’s newspaper contact was named Malcolm Tucker. A year later, Jamie had a handful of sexual encounters, but no one who became serious. It was not that he was hung up on Malcolm, but that no one else held his fascination long enough to remain permanent. Jamie’s work was beginning to get in the way of relationships, and he was beginning to grow tired of hiding his sexuality even though he knew he had to hide or suffer consequences. 

It was autumn. Jamie walked along the shortcut he always took home from work. It took him through questionable parts of town, but he would rather get home in half the time it would take to walk around things. Jamie took the route since he moved in with the nosy landlord. This was the first time that he heard footsteps follow. Jamie continued to walk, keeping his pace even. He waited until he was in light to look back over his shoulder. 

The instant Jamie turned, one of the men knocked him to the ground. “He killed himself because someone reported him. You couldn’t have left him the fuck alone, could you?”

Jamie managed to roll away before he could be kicked in the ribs. He could feel hands grabbing for him. He tried to get away, but he could not find his feet. 

“Hold him down!” the man shouted at those with him. He spoke to Jamie directly again, “Our mam sent him to dozens of doctors. He was ill. You took advantage of it.”

Jamie was not sure whom the man meant. He struggled against the men dragging him to his feet. Once Jamie’s feet connected with the alley, he struggled against the men trying to keep him stationary. He was not going to let this happen if he could help it. “I don’t know who you’re fucking talking about,” Jamie growled. He could feel his left arm coming free just as he received a fist to his gut. There were no more words, just aggression, fists against his stomach and a devastating blow to the right side of Jamie’s head near his ear. Jamie broke free and tried to fight back. He bit and clawed, kicked and punched. He knew shouting would not save him. He needed to get away, but the blow to the head left him dizzy. He could only hear loud, disorienting tones in his right ear. He was overpowered and forced down onto the ground.

Jamie woke up in the hospital. There were police. A woman found him unconscious when she went to put her washing out to dry that morning. He could only hear low tones in his right ear. He felt like he was missing some teeth. Everything was pain. He told police he was mugged and gave vague descriptions that did not match the men who beat him. He did not want anyone to find them. He did not want to go to jail himself. When the police left, Jamie closed his eyes.

Jamie did not regain hearing in his ear. He had a removable bridge in his mouth for two false teeth. The election did not go as planned and after a year, the party floundered and became the opposition. It took Jamie seven years after the party became opposition to work his way to London. He had a string of girlfriends and the occasional boyfriend. No one could handle the hours Jamie wanted to put into his job. 

It was ten years since Malcolm and Jamie last saw each other. Malcolm moved from sports to politics as he entered his thirties. Jamie only just arrived at London. He made all the right connections that came together in Scarborough that autumn and by winter Jamie moved to London and began to work at the party office. Jamie knew that Malcolm was in London. He read Malcolm’s columns. The last place he expected to see Malcolm was in church. Jamie went every Sunday. His job brought out his aggressions and frustrations. Church was a comfort from childhood. It was a means to ground Jamie in reality. Jamie’s faith renewed him even though it preached against him. He decided years ago that if God could forgive shrimp and pork, He could forgive Jamie’s sexuality. Jamie saw Malcolm sitting a few pews ahead. There was never a good way to approach and after a few weeks, Jamie realized there was a woman always sitting with Malcolm, so Jamie kept to himself.

Malcolm saw Jamie two weeks after Jamie’s arrival. He did not approach Jamie either. They remained silent to each other but aware of one another. When Jamie was at political events, he would see Malcolm in the sea of reporters. It was not until it was almost Easter when Jamie saw Malcolm sitting on a bench in a park. Jamie sat beside Malcolm and neither spoke for a long moment. 

“She’s my wife,” Malcolm said. He knew the obvious questions. “She’s been a part of that church her entire life.” He still doubted God, but he could sit through church if she could handle the hours he put in at work. It was one of their compromises as a couple. 

“I figured,” Jamie said. “It’s a nice wedding ring.” Jamie paused and thought about what to say. Nothing seemed right. “I could say a lot of things. You look good. You seem happy. A bunch of fucking bollocks we tell people from our pasts.”

“Saying I look miserable and ugly?” Malcolm asked, his lips smirking in amusement. The scars on his hand were white and flatter with age, but they were still raised and noticeable. He was starting to grey at his temples and wrinkle around the edges of his skin. 

Jamie did not answer and gave Malcolm a serious look before snorting. “No,” he said. He reached into his pocket and took out one of his business cards. Malcolm did the same. “I’m not going to fuck your marriage up,” Jamie said. He felt like if they ignored each other because they could not have a relationship that was not platonic, it would be a loss. 

“I know,” Malcolm said. He pocketed the card. He missed Jamie. He missed talking to him as much as he missed the feel of Jamie’s skin under his fingers. “You can be my man on the inside,” he teased. 

“I’m not giving you any fucking secrets,” Jamie said, his voice light. 

Once again, their colleagues knew Malcolm and Jamie as contacts and friends. No one who knew either from Glasgow back in the day were surprised to see them communicated with each other again. Spring turned to autumn. Around Malcolm’s birthday, the instances they could take time to talk began to increase. Malcolm lost weight and his jaw seemed to be in a permanent state of tension, but he did not explain the cause. 

It was early December and rainy when the bell rang in Jamie’s flat. He was surprised when it rang, but more surprised to find that Malcolm was the source. He went downstairs and let Malcolm into the building. 

“Did you walk all the way here?” Jamie asked, shutting the door behind Malcolm once he entered.

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. He was soaked from head to toe and leaving impressive puddles. He also had a small bag under his arm. Malcolm tried to wring out what he could onto the matt before following Jamie up the stairs. 

“Stay here,” Jamie said once they were in his flat. It was a small flat with one bedroom. He returned with bath towels, draping one over Malcolm’s head. “What are you doing here?”

Malcolm dried his hair and his face. He wiped off his hands and removed his coat. “It was either she left or I left and…” his voice trailed. He shook his head. “It would look so much worse if I threw her out of the house.” Malcolm was not wearing his wedding ring. 

Jamie hung up Malcolm’s coat. “Sorry,” he said. He was not sure what else he could say. 

“It was always going to happen,” Malcolm said. “She wanted to fucking change me, and I did change, just not how she wanted.” He removed his shoes since that would only make more of a mess to keep them on. 

Jamie directed Malcolm to the toilet where he could change his clothes. When Malcolm disappeared, Jamie cleaned up the puddles. 

Malcolm returned in dry clothes. He watched Jamie mop. “I only need a place for tonight. I’ll be gone tomorrow,” he said. 

“Where are you going to go?” Jamie asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Malcolm said. He had a few ideas. He already anticipated the scenario for the last few weeks, but had not left before today so he would not have to spend more time in a hotel than he had to. 

Malcolm and Jamie shared a bed as they had many times before with their backs to one another. Jamie had almost forgotten Malcolm’s light snoring. Malcolm had almost forgotten how much heat Jamie was like a person-sized water bottle with the amount of heat Jamie could generate under the covers while sleeping. 

Early in the morning, Jamie’s alarm clock sounded. It was loud and obnoxious, crafted to be louder than average. Malcolm sat up in bed, completely unprepared. He felt his heart race, but with some deep breathing, he began to calm. Jamie continued to sleep. Jamie still had his back to Malcolm and his left ear was buried in the pillows. Malcolm frowned and touched Jamie’s shoulder. 

Jamie jumped. His eyes opened wide. When he realized the person who touched him was Malcolm, Jamie calmed. He reached over, grabbed the clock to stop the alarm, and sat up, rubbing his face. 

“How the fuck can you sleep through that?” Malcolm asked. 

Jamie heard what Malcolm said but the tones in his right ear were loud and too distracting to process Malcolm’s question. Jamie mumbled an unintelligible response. 

Malcolm frowned. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. Waking up was always disorienting. Jamie stretched, listening to his spine crack with the movement. “You’re the guest. Go shower,” he said. Once Malcolm was gone, Jamie looked at his clock and sighed. It was not the first time it had not woken him up immediately. 

It was a workday and Malcolm and Jamie were both in suits and ties, ready to leave at the same time. Just before they parted ways so Malcolm could go to the paper and Jamie to the party office, Jamie said, “If you can’t find anything, you can come over again tonight. You can stay until you find something.” He was in-between lovers and had no one living with him to answer to for now. He did not mind sharing space with Malcolm even if their relationship had evolved into something more platonic. 

Malcolm nodded. He thanked Jamie and then they went their separate ways. 

Malcolm began to live out of a hotel until he could find his own flat, but he did come over to Jamie’s flat for company. One night, two weeks later, Malcolm was at Jamie’s flat, staring at his wine glass, lost in thought. He blinked when Jamie sat down in a chair nearby instead of the sofa with Malcolm. “You always sit on my right now,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie grasped his own glass. “Yeah.” Jamie crossed his legs and did not elaborate. “How are things?”

Malcolm sipped his wine, recognizing the change in topic. He remembered how loud Jamie’s alarm clock was. He could not remember Jamie having compromised hearing the last time they saw each other. Malcolm did not press as Jamie never pressed about the origin of Malcolm’s scars. Malcolm sighed. “We’re going to separate. She doesn’t want a divorce. Religion, you know.” He frowned. “It’s been like this for a year now. It’s gotten to the point we can’t even fucking look at each other.” 

Jamie did not know what to say. He sipped his wine. “Are you going to go to the New Year’s party?” There was a party organized for certain members of the press and certain members of various parties. Jamie and Malcolm were both invited. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “I’m not going to take a date.” It would look bad since most thought the Tuckers’ marriage dissolved recently. “What about you?”

“There’s a nice girl, sister of one of my colleagues,” Jamie said. It was always someone’s sister or a girl they knew. The girls were always nice, and Jamie had dated a few, but it never did work towards something serious. Jamie did not think he could marry anyone unless he could see a permanent future with that person. Like Malcolm’s estranged wife, Jamie was taught divorce was not an option and he did not want to marry a woman he did not want to have at his side when they were white haired and feeble. After a long pause, Jamie said, “Maybe in our lifetime, we’ll be able to go together. Properly.” 

Malcolm snorted. “Kinsey might have opened a door, but there’s thousands of doors left. Look at Alan Turing.” 

Jamie grimaced. Alan Turing had been one of England’s authorities on computers. He died of cyanide poisoning a little over four years ago, two years after a chemical castration to avoid jail for homosexual acts. An inquest ruled the death a suicide. “I try not to,” Jamie murmured. Jamie rubbed his fingers against his stomach briefly at the thought. He could feel the scars from his beating underneath the fabric of his shirt. 

“It’s becoming more dangerous, more pathological,” Malcolm said. “It’s time for people like Parliament to act, but it serves all of them too well to do nothing. The only part of the Wolfenden Report they paid attention to was prostitution.” 

Jamie sighed. He looked at the wine in his glass. “I hate hiding,” he said. His nose wrinkled. “I fucking hate it. Maybe there’s a woman for me, maybe there’s a man – I don’t fucking know. I can’t fucking know because I can’t be open about it. Even if they did decriminalize it, how open will we fucking be? It’s going to be like divorces or bastard children, a thing that exists that nobody talks about unless someone fucks up in etiquette.” 

Malcolm sighed. He leaned back in his seat. “I got married because I thought I was in love.” He frowned. “I think I might have been tired of hiding.” He could no longer remember after the last year and a half of the relationship deteriorating. In a few years, he would have more clarity. “I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

They fell back into silence, but it was a comfortable silence. 

The new year brought troubling fog in late winter and nuclear protesters in the spring. The elections in October ensured Jamie’s party would continue in opposition. It was a few days after elections. Jamie lay on the floor of Malcolm’s sitting room because he was too tired to sit. It was the first time he could slow down since the party found out the results. His gaze shifted from the ceiling when Malcolm stood over him. 

“You can’t be in opposition forever,” Malcolm said. They had a habit of visiting each other for drinks and conversation over the past year. 

“I know,” Jamie said. He watched Malcolm sit down beside him. Jamie’s eyes moved from Malcolm’s face along Malcolm’s body. “Reminds me of that hotel you lived in,” Jamie murmured. He could remember laying down on the floor after a long day at work and after a while feeling Malcolm’s hand slide under his shirt. This floor was much more comfortable. 

Malcolm’s hands stayed near his own person. He leaned back against the bottom rim of a chair. “Do you miss it?”

“Not really. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing,” Jamie said. He paused and licked his lips. After a moment of silence between them, he said, “I miss you.” It was nice to still have contact with Malcolm, but there were aspects of their past that Jamie did miss. 

Malcolm’s gaze returned to Jamie. He knew what Jamie meant. He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, weighing his options. “Are you going to risk everything?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Jamie said. “Are you?”

Malcolm nodded. “Yes.” He looked at Jamie and then leaned over, letting his hand slide across Jamie’s stomach, remaining outside Jamie’s shirt. Malcolm leaned down and kissed him. Jamie kissed back, hand moving to grasp the back of Malcolm’s neck lightly. His fingers slid along Malcolm’s skin, dipping under Malcolm’s collar. Malcolm’s hands slowed on Jamie’s abdomen, pressing lightly against the fabric of Jamie’s shirt. His left hand travelled upwards and skimmed along Jamie’s skull near his right ear. He did not have full feeling or range of motion in his left hand, but he had enough feeling to feel any evidence of external injury near Jamie’s ear. He suspected that Jamie’s hearing loss related to the scars on his stomach that Malcolm could feel through Jamie’s shirt. 

Jamie’s hands stopped moving. He looked up at Malcolm. The scars from the beating were scattered along his torso and along the right side of his head. He knew he had a faint one along his right eye, but Malcolm had never asked about it. There were only a few scars that someone could feel by touch and more than were flat and could only be seen. Jamie knew that Malcolm had not seen all the scars, but Jamie could see everything coming together in Malcolm’s mind. Malcolm’s jaw tensed and his eyes darkened. 

There were so many questions hanging in the air. Jamie took a breath. “You know why,” he said. “You know what these are fucking from.”

Malcolm frowned. His finger caressed Jamie’s deaf ear. “When?” 

“A couple years after you fucked off,” Jamie said. “The cunts followed me home. My stomach looks like a boxer’s face.” 

Malcolm slid his hand along Jamie’s abdomen again. He felt Jamie involuntarily wiggle underneath his touches. “If you don’t want me to touch you there…” Malcolm did not have to finish the statement. 

“You can touch my stomach,” Jamie said, “but if you keep doing it, I can’t promise I won’t fuck you right now.” Jamie’s abdomen had always been sensitive, but not in a ticklish way. 

Malcolm slid a finger between the buttons on Jamie’s shirt, rubbing small circles along what skin he could touch. Malcolm undid the middle buttons and slid his fingers under Jamie’s shirt, touching as much as he could. 

Jamie let out a faint groan. Jamie shivered and then rolled them over, pinning Malcolm to the floor. Malcolm twisted his wrists, testing the strength of Jamie’s grip without trying to free himself yet. He ran a foot along Jamie’s leg. Jamie leaned down and kissed Malcolm. It was a demanding, persistent kiss. Malcolm kissed back, hooking their legs together. When Jamie let go of Malcolm’s wrists, Malcolm’s hands pulled Jamie closer by his shirt. Malcolm let out a muffled moan. 

Jamie broke the kiss to murmur, “Still have to be quiet.” 

“I know,” Malcolm hissed back. They were still relegated to group living. Any of the neighbours might hear them. If they ever wanted to be able to freely express their pleasure, they would need a house or to trip to Sweden where such things had been legal since just before the end of the war. 

New Year’s Day was a Friday and ushered in the new decade. They were invited to separate New Year’s Eve parties and went with women on their arms. By four in the morning, both Malcolm and Jamie were in Malcolm’s bed, exhausted. Jamie lay on his stomach so his left ear would be towards Malcolm’s side of the bed. Jamie only just woke after dozing for an hour. He watched Malcolm in the dim light from the window. “You’re awake,” he murmured. He was not sure Malcolm had slept yet. 

Malcolm murmured an affirmative. He remained on his back. It was helping keep his mind focused. 

Jamie moved so his chin rested on the pillows so he could look at Malcolm properly. “Did the fireworks bother you?”

There was a long pause. “No,” Malcolm said. It was a lie.

“Do you need cold water?” Jamie asked. It had been a long time since he had to run a cold bath for Malcolm. 

“No,” Malcolm said sharply. He paused and took a deep breath. He put his hands over his eyes and rubbed his face with his palms. “It’s been almost twenty fucking years. It shouldn’t still…” his voice trailed. He pressed his hands firmly against his eyes and shivered. 

Jamie knew that shiver. He sat up, facing the head of the bed. “You don’t have to be here for New Year’s. You don’t have to go to any parties,” he said. He knew Malcolm had not taken a holiday in a long time. 

“We both know that’s not true,” Malcolm said. He removed his hands. There were no tears, but there was physical pain. Malcolm sat up and let out a deep breath. He could remember the sounds of war around him, the pain of bullets grazing his body. It was not the memory of the fire bothering him this time, but the memories of his time in Western Asia. 

Jamie moved his arm away from his side. Malcolm hooked his arm through Jamie’s arm, rested his forehead against Jamie’s shoulder, and leaned against Jamie’s body. Malcolm kept his breathing slow, rhythmic. He closed his eyes and opened them again. 

Jamie had nightmares about alleys. He had nightmares about goblins trying to rip his organs out sometimes. He doubted any nightmare he had stemming from his beating was anything like the nightmares Malcolm had from the war. When Jamie felt his legs begin to cramp, he laid back slowly, pulling Malcolm down with him, their heads at the foot of the bed. Malcolm let Jamie pull him. Their bodies tangled together. Jamie closed his eyes and fell asleep. Malcolm still could not sleep, but the rhythmic beating of Jamie’s heat under his ear kept him grounded in reality. 

It was May. Jamie was thirty-two now and Malcolm was thirty-seven. People were still talking about Princess Margaret’s wedding. Malcolm and Jamie were still living in separate flats, but spent nights together when they could, switching between locations, trying not to adhere to any kind of pattern or schedule when it came to overnight visits. Their non-overnight visits remained as they had been since reuniting. 

Then Jamie’s mother died. She was in her sixties now. Jamie’s father was still alive and almost seventy. Malcolm came with Jamie to the trains, but would not go with him back to Scotland. Jamie licked his lips and sighed. “I know everyone dies, but this is fucked up.” He had not been back to Scotland in a long time, but he kept in touch with his family through letters and phone calls. He would receive stacks of cards on his birthday and during holidays.

Malcolm had his hands in his pockets. They stood off to the side. The train would leave shortly but Jamie did not have to board yet. Malcolm had not spoken to his parents since they left him with his granny. He had contact with one of his sisters and her daughter, but the rest of his family did not speak to him. He was the only boy, which was why he was the only one of his siblings sent away when the budget got too tight. Malcolm looked around. There were so many people around them. 

Soon, it was time for Jamie to go. He reached out and then his hands hovered in the air and grabbed Malcolm’s right hand tightly, briefly. “I’ll see you in a few days,” Jamie said. 

Malcolm flexed his fingers and then made a fist after Jamie’s hand left. He wanted to grab Jamie, but he could not. They did not want to attract attention and end up in a tabloid. “Alright,” he said. He watched Jamie go and left the station after the train was out of sight. 

Nieces, nephews, Jamie’s siblings, their spouses, and their father were crowded in the house Jamie and his siblings grew up in decades ago. No one had gone home yet even though the funeral was yesterday. Jamie planned to leave on the train tomorrow morning. The village was much larger than it was before the war. The house Malcolm’s granny once lived in had a young family living there now. Jamie stood at the window in his old bedroom and looked out at the gardens. He had come upstairs to take a break from family. He never realized how much his mother interacted with him, included him, until now. Jamie felt strangely suffocated in the house. He had never felt that way before, not even the last time he visited last summer. Jamie heard someone clear their throat at the door. Jamie looked over at his brother and watched the man cross the room to stand with Jamie at the window. 

“I heard you still talk to the boy who lived next door,” his brother said. He was ten years older than Jamie. 

“He’s a political correspondent,” Jamie said. “I have to talk to him.” 

“Really,” his brother said. He leaned on the window frame. They could see their nieces and nephews playing in the garden with the children of Jamie’s brother. Jamie’s brother took a breath. “I think we both know that’s a lie.” 

Jamie held his tongue gently between his teeth. He looked at his brother. 

“When that kid first moved in, you were seven,” his brother said. “You would stand at this window and stare at him. It was weird. It was unnatural. Mam said to leave you alone, but I would make you do something else whenever I caught you.”

Jamie watched their reflections. He felt a scar along his stomach itch. “And now that she’s gone, nothing’s stopping you from severing your ties with me,” Jamie said. His voice was quieter than he would have wanted it. It was still a sombre occasion and he did not want to cause the rest of their family more grief. 

“Not just me,” his brother said. He sighed. “We all know what you get up to. The fact you’re not in jail amazes all of us. We’d appreciate it if you would leave and not contact us and especially don’t contact our children for the rest of your life.”

Jamie looked at his brother then and held his gaze. “Does Dad know about this?” he asked. 

“Who do you think told me to tell you to leave?” his brother said. “If it had been up to all of us, you know who would be speaking to you right now.” 

It would have been Jamie’s oldest sister. She was six years older than Jamie and acted motherly towards him. She was the one who called him to tell him that their mother had died. Jamie sighed. He thought of all the things he could say, but he did not want to waste his breath. He retrieved his bag from under one of the beds in the room. He made certain he had everything he came with. “She could have told me before I took a train here,” Jamie said. “You could have told me – any of you could.”

“We thought it would be unkind to exclude you from Mam’s funeral,” his brother said. 

Jamie picked up his bag, headed down the stairs, and passed the doorway to the kitchen. His sisters looked at him and he looked back. He felt a rock in his stomach at their expressions. Jamie turned away before they felt that they would have to say goodbye to him out of manners. He headed to the parlour where his father sat with some of the older nieces and nephews. The older nieces and nephews looked at Jamie uncomfortably, some with open sympathy. They were all old enough to realize what happened. Jamie looked at his father. “Goodbye, Dad.” 

Jamie waited, but received no reply. He opened his mouth and then closed it and left the house. 

When Jamie reached London, he found a telephone box and dialled Malcolm. He planned to let the phone ring four times and then go home if Malcolm did not answer. 

Malcolm answered on the third ring. He had a handful of colleagues at his flat for a drink and networking. It was something he indulged in from time to time. There was quiet music on in the background. “Hello?” 

Jamie could hear the music and hear the quiet rumble of one of Malcolm’s editors. He held his breath. Jamie pressed his finger onto the hook to cancel the connection. He closed his eyes and slammed the phone onto the hook. He left the phone booth and began walking. All the way on the train, the rejection of his family plagued him and it continued to bother him. He thought about everything he experienced in his life with his family. He thought about all the faith he placed in all of them and how they all pretended that he did not disgust them. He was certain of nothing. 

His feet led him to Malcolm’s building. He sat on a bench at the bus stop on the corner that Malcolm could see from his apartment at the corner of the building. Jamie was not sure he be here, but he still had time to change his mind. He did not want to go home. Jamie bit his lip until it bled. He had no tears, only anger. He had been lied to for most of his life. He did not know what sentiments from his family in his memories were sincere anymore. Jamie watched Malcolm’s colleagues leave. None of them looked at Jamie sitting with others on the bench. It was several minutes later when the woman sitting beside Jamie on the bench left on the bus. Once she was gone, Malcolm sat down beside Jamie. 

They said nothing. Jamie had thread in his hand that he unravelled from the handle of his bag. Malcolm watched Jamie continue to tug on the thread, feeding his need for an outlet for his frustrations. Malcolm reached out and discreetly put his hand over Jamie’s hands to stop the compulsive behaviour. “Upstairs,” Malcolm said firmly, but quietly so only Jamie could hear. 

Jamie got up and headed back to Malcolm’s building. Malcolm followed. Malcolm led them up an entrance that required a residential key. Once they were in Malcolm’s flat. Jamie put his bag down by the door. 

Malcolm shoved Jamie up against the door. Jamie let out a small noise of surprise at the unexpected gesture. Malcolm kissed Jamie hard, demanding Jamie’s attention. Jamie kissed back and wrapped his arms around Malcolm’s neck. Malcolm’s hands slid up Jamie’s sides under his coat. Malcolm broke the kiss to kiss and suck at Jamie’s neck. Jamie leaned back against the door and let out a quiet groan, closing his eyes. Jamie’s hands slid to Malcolm’s shoulders. “Don’t fucking stop,” Jamie murmured. 

Malcolm pulled off Jamie’s coat and cast it aside. Their fingers fumbled with the buttons on each other’s shirts and the clasps of their braces. Their clothes piled in heaps on the floor. Jamie’s ass smacked against the wall next to the door when Malcolm moved them over so the door would not rattle. Malcolm bit, sucked, and nipped at Jamie’s skin, littering his neck and shoulders with marks. His fingers pressed against Jamie’s waist. Jamie’s hands slid along Malcolm’s body. Jamie rubbed a highly sensitive spot on Malcolm’s right shoulder with his thumb until Malcolm bit his tongue to keep from moaning. 

Malcolm’s fingers ghosted up Jamie’s length before taking Jamie into his hand and squeezing. Jamie bit his bottom lip, trying to refrain from making noise. He could still feel where he bit his lip open earlier. Malcolm’s fingers began to work Jamie, pumping and stroking, rubbing and teasing. His fingers coaxed along Jamie’s length and testicles. Jamie felt his knees weaken. He shivered and struggled to keep quiet. Malcolm bit and sucked at Jamie’s neck while he continued to urge Jamie with his hand. 

Jamie’s nails dug into Malcolm’s flesh when he came. He bit his tongue and shut his eyes tight to avoid noises. When he finished, Jamie relaxed his hands and then wrapped his arms around Malcolm’s neck, his fingers tangling in Malcolm’s curls. Malcolm pulled Jamie away from the wall and wrapped his arms around Jamie’s torso just as tight. Jamie closed his eyes tightly, feeling the contrast in the textures of their skin against one another. He could feel the stubble on Malcolm’s chin against his cheek. Jamie could also feel Malcolm hard against his body. After a moment, Jamie started to kiss Malcolm’s neck. His hands moved down Malcolm’s body. He moved back enough so his hand could reach Malcolm’s erection. 

“I need…I need to sit,” Malcolm hissed. His nerves prickled in some places and were numb in others. “Fuck, he murmured when he felt Jamie’s fingertips briefly on his erection. 

“It’s fine,” Jamie murmured. He let go of Malcolm. It was not the first time they had to switch rooms to finish. 

Malcolm touched Jamie’s shoulder and led him back to the bedroom. He settled down onto the bed in a sitting position. Jamie climbed up onto the bed, grabbing tissues as he went, using some of what he grabbed to wipe himself off before getting onto the bed and setting the rest of the tissues he grabbed on the bed. Malcolm used some to wipe off his hands. 

Jamie climbed over to Malcolm and started to suck at hotspots. His mouth moved from behind Malcolm’s left ear to where his right shoulder met his neck and the spot on Malcolm’s right shoulder that made Malcolm shudder and bite back a moan. Jamie moved his mouth lower sucking at a spot to the right of Malcolm’s navel. Malcolm let out another muffled moan. Jamie mouthed at Malcolm’s body, moving lower until his slid his tongue along the base of Malcolm’s length. He felt Malcolm shiver. Jamie moved his mouth along Malcolm’s length, using his lips and his tongue. He used his hands to rub small circles against the base of Malcolm’s length while his other hand rubbed Malcolm’s testicle. When Jamie got to the tip of Malcolm’s length, he slid his tongue along its circumference and then took Malcolm into his mouth, bobbing his head. Jamie worked Malcolm with his mouth until Malcolm came. 

Jamie leaned back and swallowed, nose wrinkling involuntarily at the taste. He looked at Malcolm who had his left hand in his mouth, biting down on the bottom knuckle of his index finger so he would make minimal noises. Malcolm let go of his hand and let out a very low moan. There were teeth marks against his scars. 

Jamie wiped his mouth on his hand and wiped his hand on the remaining tissues before throwing them away. He looked at Malcolm and ran his hand up Malcolm’s stomach, touching both the scarred and uninjured flesh. 

Malcolm’s eyes followed Jamie’s fingers even after Jamie’s fingers moved away from Malcolm’s body. Malcolm’s eyes then moved to Jamie’s face. The sex had not been strange. Nothing new between them sexually happened that night. He thought about the hug before they switched. It was the type of hug Jamie would give Malcolm when he needed Malcolm the most. Malcolm remembered Jamie compulsively destroying his bag. “What happened?” he asked quietly. 

Jamie lay back on the bed so he was perpendicular to Malcolm and rested his head on Malcolm’s stomach. He closed his eyes. “Not tonight,” Jamie said. He felt satiated and did not want to tap into the frustration and anger again so soon. 

Malcolm ran his fingers through Jamie’s hair with his right hand. He began to toy with the curls lazily. He felt Jamie settle. 

After a while, Jamie reluctantly sat up and settled beside Malcolm properly since it was becoming uncomfortable to remain where he was. Jamie was still too hot to lie too close. Malcolm rolled over and put his hand on Jamie’s back. 

When Jamie woke, it was almost noon and Malcolm was at work. Jamie held his breath a moment and decided what he would do. He showered and dressed in his last fresh set of clothes he would have worn home on the train that day. He grabbed his bag and peered out into the hallway. There was no one about. He locked the door handle from the inside and shut it quietly behind. He stole down the residential stairs, slipped out the door, and went home. 

Jamie did not have to explain what happened. There were no phone calls from his family at inopportune times. When Christmas came, there was no stack of cards or gifts of food. When Jamie’s birthday arrived in the spring, there were no cards from his family or string of calls after work. 

It was autumn and Malcolm’s birthday would be soon. Jamie walked down the hallway at the office when the director of communications approached and pulled him into an empty room. 

“This is a courtesy. What you choose to do with it is your choice,” the director said. 

Jamie frowned. “What kind of ‘courtesy?’” he asked. His body tensed. It could be anything. Jamie did not know what to 

“As you know, members in our party support reform,” the director said, “and I just spoke to a member of the police who claimed you will be arrested and charged with sodomy before the end of the evening.” 

Jamie froze. His mind began to race. He was not sure if Malcolm was in or out of the city. He was not sure he had time to warn him. He did not know what to do. “Who…?” 

“I don’t know who reported you,” the director said. “We will stand by the reform of the law, but we can’t block you from it.” He sighed. “We’re so close to changing the law.” His jaw tensed with anger for Jamie’s situation, anger for the party losing an asset. 

Jamie gripped the back of a chair within reach. He leaned on it. “I can’t fucking go to jail. I can’t fucking end up like Alan Turing.”

“They can’t prove a fucking thing,” the director said. “I was surprised when I heard your name.” 

“It’s always circumstantial and the bastards end up in prison for a year or more anyway,” Jamie said. He licked his lips. “I worked so fucking hard to get here. I’m almost the fucking senior press officer.” 

“I can’t promise there will be a job for you when you get out,” the director said. “You shouldn’t even be arrested even if you’ve done what they claimed.” 

Jamie took a breath. “I’ll clear out my desk,” he said. When he reached his office, Jamie closed the door behind him and leaned against the door, regulating his breathing. There was a box waiting for him on his desk. He began to place his things inside. The more he placed, the more violent his packing became until the box was full of ripped and broken objects. Jamie looked at it and then dumped its content into his rubbish bin and set the box beside it before exiting his office. 

Malcolm stood in the shadow of the news building. He took a deep breath and went through his notes. He looked up when he heard footsteps. He straightened when he saw police officers. It was not the first time he was approached by officers, though it was the first time he was approached while they were in uniform. Malcolm closed his notes. 

“Are you Malcolm Tucker?” one of them asked. 

“Yes,” Malcolm said. He ran his tongue along his teeth. He could think of several reasons for their approach. 

Malcolm was charged with sodomy as was Jamie a while later. Both went willingly, not wanting to add charges. One of Jamie’s nephews filed the complaint. The young man was in London at university. A detective observed that Jamie and Malcolm for a while and noted that they both spent the night at the other’s flat from time to time. Their flats were searched and while there was nothing akin to love letters or pornography, the contents of Malcolm’s sex drawer were discussed discreetly and how there were repeat objects found in an old suitcase in Jamie’s closet. 

Malcolm was a veteran and while the majority of his scars were covered by his suits, his left hand was a pale but grotesque reminder of his sacrifices for queen and country. Jamie was religious but Catholic. There were many who could attest they could not see him committing such sins. The evidence could not discern if there had been sex, let alone anal sex. Malcolm received a year for his alleged crimes and Jamie received two years. They lost their flats and their belongings. They lost their jobs and their freedom. They lost contact with each other. 

When Malcolm left prison, he had no home and just enough money in the bank to survive until he could find a job. He moved from job to job until he began to work as an editor for a tabloid. The person who hired him had been hiring men who returned from prison after convictions for consensual homosexual acts between adults. 

A year later, Jamie left prison and London. He went on a missionary trip with the church to West Africa. He continued with the missionaries even four years later when England and Wales decriminalized consensual homosexual acts between adults. He took up with one of the women on the mission, but when the new decade started, she returned to Manchester and he returned to London, neither interested in continuing the relationship away from Africa. Jamie was now forty-two. One of his party contacts needed someone to help manage the local campaign of a promising candidate. Jamie found himself at the bottom of the political game again. 

Malcolm had affairs and currently was with an older man for a year now. Malcolm had no contact with his estranged wife. He was looking through a copy of the tabloid, double-checking its contents and paused. In the back of one of the photos of miscellaneous politicians was Jamie. Malcolm let out a silent sigh and went back to checking the tabloid. 

Six years later, it was only a few days into July. Jamie got off the train and joined the queue for a cab. A movement caught his eye and he saw Malcolm heading down the pavement. Jamie held his breath. He licked his lips and looked away. When he looked back, Malcolm was gone. Jamie let out a silent sigh and then he headed in the direction Malcolm went. He decided that if Malcolm remained out of sight, he would go home. 

Malcolm sat at a nearby bus stop. He closed his eyes briefly against the burning, stinging pain where his nerves flared. It was unseasonably hot and the heat was brutal to Malcolm’s body. He could barely feel his left hand or arm. He heard someone sit down beside him. He breathed through his nose and then opened his eyes. 

Jamie looked down the road at the buses approaching. He did not know which one would be Malcolm’s bus. Jamie was forty-eight and Malcolm nearing fifty-four. Malcolm’s hair was curly and very grey. Jamie’s hair was beginning to grey at the temples. “You’ve gotten so fucking old,” Jamie said quietly, but his lips curved into a small smirk. 

Malcolm snorted. “I couldn’t just fuck off to find the fountain of youth.” 

They lapsed into silence for a moment. “Are you happy?” Malcolm asked quietly. 

Jamie thought about the question. “Yeah,” he said. At least as much as he could be. “Are you?” He looked at Malcolm, watching his face. 

Malcolm nodded. “We should start having lunch like we used to.” He got up when his bus arrived. 

Malcolm and Jamie started having lunch together again. It was casual, a meal between friends as it had been back when Malcolm was actively married to his wife. Malcolm’s life continued with his partner until three years later when the man died. He lived as long as any man could have expected. Malcolm stood alone over his partner’s grave. It made him more aware of his own age. Malcolm wondered if he would be lucky enough to live into his seventies as he partner had. 

Three years later, Malcolm and Jamie were at one of the places they frequented for lunch. It was early winter. Malcolm set his fork down and looked at Jamie. “I’m going to get the fuck out of here for New Year’s,” Malcolm said. “Do you want to come with?”

Jamie looked at Malcolm. He licked his lips. “All my life it keeps coming back to you and me. If you’re starting something, I want to fucking finish it. If I come with you on this trip and we come back together, I want to live the life we should have lived all this time.” There were no more legal restrictions in England, Scotland, and Wales now. 

Malcolm held Jamie’s gaze. He nodded. “If we come back together, we stay together,” he agreed. 

When it was the end of December, Malcolm and Jamie went north to Scotland and into the Highlands, choosing a place that would be secluded. They could not be open with their relationship, but neither were the type to indulge in public displays of affection. When New Year’s Eve came, Jamie found Malcolm by a river near the lodge in the darkness. Malcolm sat on a blanket on the bank. Jamie stood nearby and watched the current. After a long time of silence, Jamie joined Malcolm on the blanket.

“I don’t know if quiet is calming or unsettling,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie looked at his watch, using his torch to illuminate its face briefly. “It might get noisy in two minutes.” 

Malcolm’s jaw tensed. “It would get quiet sometimes back then,” Malcolm said. “Quiet meant someone was about to fuck us up.”

Jamie did not know how to respond. It was rare that Malcolm would speak about the war. Malcolm did not elaborate on his statements. When it hit midnight, they could hear various pops and booms along the river. Jamie sat close enough to Malcolm that he could feel Malcolm’s body instinctively tense and prepare for ambush. He could hear Malcolm’s breath catch involuntarily when the noises were exceptionally loud. 

“It’s been forty fucking years,” Malcolm said more to himself than Jamie. 

Jamie stood up and offered Malcolm a hand. “Let’s go back,” he said. Malcolm got up and then picked the blanket up, shaking it out and rolling it up to carry back. Jamie hooked his arm through Malcolm’s and they walked back to the lodge arm in arm as they would walk whenever they wanted wherever they wanted for the rest of their lives.

**The End**


End file.
